Skies of Tomorrow
by Izuraki
Summary: A famous art dealer's son. A man whose body was sold to repay his family's debts. An art auction. Rated M for future chapters.


**Disclaimer:** This is an unbeta-ed AU! fanfiction. I do not own Kuroko no Basuke or any of the characters, other than OCs. This fic is based on an idea adopted from cherripetalz.

Tapping a finger against the buttery leather furnished interior of his car with a long finger, he gazed absentmindedly outside the black-tinted windows that blocked the curious eyes of the outside world.

Being the son of one of the world's richest art dealers as well as a rather renowned nude sculptor at his tender age of twenty five, the young master was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, waited on hand and foot by the countless maids that attended to his every needs. He had never heard a single 'no' in his life. Everything was smooth sailing.

Ceasing the mindless act, Aomine shifted, pressing his thumb and index against his temples, lids closing shut as he drifted away to the sound of the silent purr of his sports car as it sped along the highway.

Despite the money, the fame, the women, the man with hair the natural shade one of the three primary colours felt that there was something amiss in his life; a hole in his heart that made him feel empty and hollow, something that on surface he knew that no amount of money, fame or sex could ever fill up. In fact, they caused the organ that resided in his chest cavity whose name was commonly associated with the word 'love' to feel even more desolate.

Love. He didn't even want to think about it. Aomine definitely believed in many things. Such as the definite, hard lines of the bodies he painstakingly carved, chipped and smoothed. Believed in the solid, aesthetically beautiful sculptures, their smooth angles and sharp lines blending together in harmony.

But not Love. Never Love. Aomine did not believe in everlasting love and the happily ever afters. Those were for little girls, die-hard romanticists and their daydreams. Love was an emotion that made no sense. He was a hard core realist, and he couldn't imagine himself falling head over heels, sacrificing his whole life of hard work, giving up anything in the name of this fucking thing called love.

No, he definitely didn't need such societal themes in his life, thank you very much.

The screen of his sleek smart phone came to life, its incessant vibrations disrupting the silent reverie that he was submerged in. Without bothering to give the blinking screen a second glance, the bluenette swiped the green icon with a thumb, engaging himself in the call.

"**What is it, old man?**"  
_

"**Wake up!**"

Eyes the colour of molten gold burst open at the sudden contact of cold liquid that was splashed across his face, his body feeling disoriented as he was being jolted awake from unconsciousness.

"**Mmmph…!**" His attempt to verbalize any words failed, his voice filtered into nothing but soft muffles by the ball gag that was secured at the entrance of his mouth by two leather straps. His body naturally reacted, arms wanting to reach out and rip off the offending object, only to realize that his limbs were tied, rendering him immobile and mute.

"**Looks like the sleeping beauty has woken up eh?**" A slight gasp escaped the blonde's lips as his chin was held in an iron grip, forcing his face to be tilted upwards to his kidnapper. The stench had hit him before he even saw the other's face, the putrid odour of rotting trash flooding his sense of smell. Thick, greasy strands of hair fell unkempt, over his face – massive square jaws, unshaved stubble, a nose so misshapen like it had been broken way too many times, dull chocolate eyes scrutinizing him.

Amber eyes glared up defiantly, his anger and confusion reflected clearly in the windows to his soul as the other sneered at the bound youth before backhanding him, hard enough to leave an angry red print that stood out like a sore thumb on the unblemished, pale skin.

"**Don't gimme that look, punk!**" The man spat, his expression contorting in barely restrained anger. "**I'd have fuckin' killed ya if ya weren't goods, ya hear me?**"

His body immediately stilled as the memories of yesterday flooded his mind. Ah, that's right. He was nothing but an object to be put on display and sold now. With his parents fleeing from the debt they owed, their debtors tracking down to the only son they had left behind, it led to his current predicament; tied up, gagged, his body to be sold to an unknown person.

Waiting until his abuser had left the room, eyelids finally fluttered shut, fatigue overcoming him as the blonde felt a familiar burn at the rim of his eyes. Shivering in the sudden draft that had picked up, the young man curled into a protective ball, whimpers spilling from his lips as he rocked himself, a feeble attempt to comfort himself in this inescapable hell hole he had somehow landed himself in.

_I will not cry. I cannot cry._

A single tear spilled from the tightly shut lids, the drop of salted liquid reflecting the lonely stream of light from the moon, as though it was mocking at the young man's helplessness.

_Somebody save me from this nightmare._


End file.
